


Taction

by oldcoyote (contrawise)



Series: Displacement Verse [6]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrawise/pseuds/oldcoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Blaine lied to Steve, it was midwinter. But he had his reasons. Part six of the Displacement Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taction

**Author's Note:**

> This AU Avengers/Glee crossover follows movie!Steve, who was frozen in late 1944 (age 26) and woke up in 2011, and an alternate Blaine, who’s 24 at the present day and lives in NYC. Set post-Avengers.

The first time Blaine lied to Steve it was midwinter.

Steve had spent the afternoon in a SHIELD briefing, bored out of his mind, but mostly glad that the invading forces of Wherever It Was This Time had given them a break for the holiday season. He was always grateful for small graces, and the latest on that particular list was the simple fact that aliens enjoyed snow about as much as he did.

There was a lifelong enmity between Steve and the colder seasons, sparked by his childhood and the endless bouts of flu or pneumonia that plagued him year to year. All of the other children had run by the hospital windows in bright scarves, beanies and mittens, dragging sleds or throwing snowballs, while all young Steve could do was watch them go by in between drowsy, drug-addled naps and fits of coughing until his lungs burned.

But he'd learned quickly enough, now fully grown and hurtled into a future he still struggled to understand, that his loving boyfriend not only adored the snow, but treated it with a strange kind of reverence that Steve had only ever seen within the four walls of a church. That much alone meant Steve could never truly hate the winter as he once had, not when it put that look on Blaine's face every time flakes began to fall.

His attention was drawn back to the meeting at hand, which was finally coming to a close, when his phone made a soft trill in his pocket. Almost certainly Blaine, he figured, and he spared a grudgingly fond smile for the falling snow outside the high-rise windows, lit up by the fast-waning daylight that glittered over the tall buildings. No matter how long the days dragged on, or how exhausted he was, snow always put Blaine in an impossibly good mood. 

As Steve reached the lift and pushed the button for the ground floor, he pulled out his cell and unlocked it, skimming the screen quickly.

The doors swung open and he wandered inside blindly, still staring at his screen, brow drawn in confusion.

The first message from Blaine was strange enough, but the one that followed it left him utterly baffled.

_Sleeping at my old place tonight, I have early shifts all week._

Steve's place was closer to the café than Blaine's old apartment, they both knew that. It made no sense.

_I'll stay here for a few nights, home by the end of the week. I love you._

The elevator doors swung open with a loud _ping!_ and Steve wandered out onto the street on autopilot, trying to put together the pieces in his head. 

Blaine's manager had left a message just that morning talking about an afternoon shift on Tuesday; even from the bathroom, Steve had heard it on the AI system while he brushed his teeth.

Something wasn't right, he was certain of that much. But why would Blaine lie?

Steve had spent enough of the past year on long walks through the new streets of New York to finally know the modern landmarks by heart. Sometimes he'd stumble across something so familiar he could almost taste the old cigarette smoke and the faded perfume, but it disappeared as quickly as it came so often that he wasn't sure if he was dreaming.

By the time he realised he was heading in the wrong direction, he was already halfway to Blaine's old apartment.

 _Blaine wouldn't lie_ , he assured himself firmly, _unless he was trying to protect you._

Scenarios flashed through his mind. There was no voicemail on his phone; Blaine would have left a voicemail, or at least tried to call. What if he was being held somewhere? What if he was being coerced?

With sudden red-hot fear clawing at his throat, Steve picked up his speed, and he reached the familiar stairs of Blaine's old stacked-shoebox apartment building in no time.

There was a reason Blaine gave him the keys, he insisted to himself as he jogged up the stairs. For situations like this. So they were both safe, so they both had somewhere to meet if things went wrong.

_Something is wrong._

He made his way down the hall and let himself inside carefully, eyes flicking back and forth as the door creaked under his hands. "Blaine?"

There was a surprised squawk from around the corner, where he knew Blaine's bed would be, followed by a wheeze, and what sounded like the honk of a bird.

" _Stebe_?!"  

Alarmed at the choking sounds that followed his name, Steve rushed into the room. "Blaine, are you all right? What's going--?"

He stopped mid-sentence, frozen to the spot alongside the small secondhand TV set that was angled towards the bed.

In the center of the mattress was a sea of used tissues atop scattered blankets and pillows, arranged like a great nest. He studied the mess carefully for a moment, and soon realised that in the middle of it all was a perfect, Blaine-shaped lump, curled up tight and hiding under a patchwork quilt as the avalanche of balled-up tissues continued to pour down either side.

"Dode look!" Blaine honked softly.

Steve's expression melted from shock into a hesitant smile, barely held in check by sheer force of will. "Blaine?"

"Go awabe!"

With his teeth firmly clamped on his lower lip, Steve approached the bed. "Are you sick?"

"I'b dyingk." Blaine whined, and Steve's smile twitched harder at the tiny _kuh_ noise that followed each of Blaine's g's.

"You sound like you have the flu," Steve assessed, glancing around the room.

"I'b disgustigk!" Blaine insisted pitifully. "Go, blease go."

The cheap bed frame shuddered and rattled under Steve's added weight as he perched on the edge of it, reaching out for the top of the patchwork quilt and the tiny shock of twisted curls that gave Blaine away. 

"Sweetheart," Steve said softly. "C'mon. It can't be that bad."

"Id is!" Blaine protested, clutching tighter to the quilt over his head. "I'b cobered in snod, I'b disgustigk. I dode wand you to see me like this."

"Is this why you told me you were staying here this week?" Steve asked softly, rubbing Blaine's chest through the quilt. "You could've told me you were sick."

"Ad thed you'd cobe over." Blaine sighed, his breath whistling comically on the way out. "Bud you foiled my plan anywabe."

"Well, I am Captain America," Steve teased with a grin.

"Nod fuddy," Blaine shot back, but Steve could hear the reluctant smile in his voice.

"Sweetheart," he tried again, tugging at the quilt. "C'mon, let me take you home."

"Steeeebe," Blaine pleaded softly, but his grip on the quilt loosened just enough to show his face.

His nose was bright red and shiny raw, and his cheeks were puffy, lost under a sea of unbrushed curls. His eyes seemed terribly sad and a little bit ashamed, and just the look of them made Steve hurt inside.

Reaching out, he brushed the curls away from Blaine's eyes and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Blaine's nose, and then his mouth. Blaine moaned under his lips, kissing him back for the briefest moment before he tried halfheartedly to push Steve away. The sound he made was somewhere between embarrassed laughter and surprise. 

"I'b so gross, what are you doigk?"

"I don't get sick," Steve told him, still brushing his fingers over the heated skin of Blaine's brow. "And I missed you today. And I love you."

Blaine blinked through the stubborn moisture gathering in his eyes. "But-"

"Snot and all," Steve added, pressing another quick kiss to Blaine's forehead before he turned in his seat to slide both arms under his boyfriend's body.

With a surprised yelp, Blaine was lifted up into Steve's arms, still wrapped in the quilt.

"Whad are you doigk?!" Blaine asked, clinging for dear life as Steve stood up straight.

"We're going home," Steve told him as he surveyed the room for Blaine's overnight bag.

He managed to dip just enough to get a hold of the bag handles, and let them slide to the crook of his arm, without losing support of Blaine's legs.

"You're takingk me hobe? Like this?"

"Uhuh," Steve confirmed, angling them both through the door and flicking off the lights with his elbow as they passed by the switch. He waited for the soft click of the door locking behind them before he made his way to the stairs. "We'll get a cab."

"We look riddigulus."

"I wear a spangly outfit," Steve said with a shrug. "I'm okay with ridiculous."

"Stebe," Blaine managed between sniffs. "You dode hab to do this. I'll be okay.”

 _Of course you'd be okay_ , Steve thought to himself. _You've done this before too._

At that reminder, he squeezed Blaine protectively tighter to his chest. "I know sick," he began softly. "I was sick for twenty years. You need home, your own bed, and you need to be safe, and warm, and with somebody who loves you."

Blaine tried to hide his tears in Steve's shirt, but Steve could feel them through the fabric. He remembered them very well, the way they burned down your cheeks with a fever, the way it felt to know that nobody was coming to see if you were okay, nobody but the shift nurse. 

Blaine never had a nurse, just two parents who were never home, and a brother that moved away young. Steve couldn't imagine the relief; what it might feel like the day that someone finally took care of you, just because they loved you and they wanted to.

The cabbie barely gave them a second glance for all the absurdity of the quilt and the random sniffles that came from inside it. The trip back home was blessedly fast, and Steve tipped the driver generously for the tissue box he'd passed to them halfway through the drive.

Getting inside was easy enough, and Steve was never more grateful for his automated apartment as when the lights came on the moment the door swung open.

"Hobe," Blaine honked drowsily against his shoulder.

"We're home," Steve echoed as he made his way to the bedroom, and lowered Blaine down gently. "Stay here for a minute, I'll be right back."

Blaine mumbled something in agreement as Steve slipped into the bathroom. He twirled the hot taps on the shower and sink quickly, plugging the latter and pulling the window shut.

When he went back for Blaine, he was greeted with a soft whistle of breath, followed by a groan.

"Everything hurts?" Steve asked.

"Mmm," Blaine hummed. "I dode usually ged this sick. I dook dylenol and cough syrup, but I feel awful."

Steve slowly unwrapped the quilt, easing Blaine upright as gently as he could. "You've been working double shifts, and spending too long in the cold after open mic nights. It was bound to happen."

"Stop scoldigk me," Blaine grumbled as Steve helped him to his feet. "I like snow."

"And he wonders why he's sick," Steve teased.

"Hey. I hab snot and I’m nod afraid to use it," Blaine threatened with a weak smile.

Getting Blaine out of his sweats was easy enough and, as always, was met with minimal protest. Once he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, he let Steve guide him to the bathroom.

The thick swirls of steam from the shower and the tap billowed against the ceiling as Steve lifted him onto the bench, pressing a comforting kiss to his collarbone and rubbing gently across his thighs.

"I'b nod five years old, I cad do this by byself," Blaine protested.

"I know," Steve answered in a way that very clearly meant _I'm going to do it anyway_. He quickly turned off the sink tap, stripping out of his shirt. "Try to breathe deep."

Blaine shot him an amused glare, but did as he was told, dissolving into coughing fits more than once in the process. Each time, Steve would hold him steady, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his spine until the coughing passed.

They spent a long time in comfortable silence with only the soft hiss of the shower for accompaniment, and Blaine eventually succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion, leaning heavily against Steve's body and resting his head on a bare, warm shoulder. 

Steve didn't have to look to know Blaine's eyes were closed. He let his body relax under the weight and the warmth, keeping his touch light and soothingly slow along the planes of Blaine's shoulders, moving down in rhythmic circles to his hips and gently easing the tension from the muscles. 

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked, realising he'd lost track of the time.

"Better." Blaine rubbed his cheek against Steve's shoulder and let out a relieved, whistle-free sigh. "Much better."

"You sound better," Steve added, and wrapped his arm around Blaine's waist to lift him down. "Shower?"

"Mmm," he hummed in agreement. "I'm covered in sweat and snot, a shower sounds perfect. I'll be okay on my own."

With a nod, Steve brushed his fingers through Blaine's hair, pushing it behind his ear, and kissed his temple before he left to let Blaine shower alone. The gesture was a part of both of them now, something as familiar as breathing; the way he said goodbye on the mornings where Blaine slept in and the way he said goodnight.

When Blaine emerged again, his skin was flushed a rosy pink from the heat of the water, and the towel around his waist was held together in his loose fist.

“Are you hungry? Did you eat?" Steve called from the kitchen.

"I had soup," Blaine called back, a lazy smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he let go of the towel and hung it up to dry.

Steve stopped in the doorway on his way back to their room, eyelashes fluttering and breath catching at the sight of Blaine naked and kneeling on the bed, pushing back the covers.

The first time he’d seen Blaine’s body stripped bare, he’d lost any ability to form words, like his mouth had forgotten how. He’d seen so many naked men before, and they were just men to him then; just soldiers, jeering and laughing and comfortable in their nudity in the way that brothers often are when everything is about freedom, and nothing is about sex. He’d adapted to it, strange as it had seemed to him, and eventually it became just another part of life during the war. 

Blaine was different. 

Blaine made his hips tighten and his stomach squeeze tight, made his pulse race and his mouth go dry, and he never understood quite why. It didn’t matter, in the end. He’d wondered from time to time if he’d get used to it like before - if he’d ever simply adjust to the way it made him feel, to know that he could touch, could stroke, could kiss any part of Blaine’s body and be welcomed with callused hands in his hair or on his face, be greeted with soft sighs or low and desperate moans. So many of the men he’d known were so accustomed to the naked bodies of women, spread out in a magazine or live and in their reach. As if being so exposed and being touched was just another part of living that they accepted like breakfast or breathing. They were used to it; they took it for granted.

The air rushed out of Steve’s lungs again, and he couldn’t help but smile. He’d never get used to it, not that way. And he never wanted to.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked softly from the bed, now tucked under the covers. 

Steve realised he’d been lost in thought and staring.

“I am,” he said, and switched off the bedroom light, stripping out of his pants and hanging them over the arm of the chair in the corner.

“You don’t have to sleep now, it’s early,” Blaine insisted. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Steve closed the gap between them, climbing onto the bed on hands and knees and pressing a kiss to Blaine’s forehead when he was in reach. “I want to.”

“Old man,” Blaine teased.

Steve chuckled as he pulled up his side of the blankets, settling down and smiling while Blaine shifted so they faced each other.

“Jarvis,” Blaine mumbled, and the console on the wall glittered briefly in tiny blue neon lights. “Moonlight Serenade. Soft. Repeat.”

The music began to trickle across the room, and Steve closed his eyes as the familiar tune mingled with the faint sound of cars passing on wet streets.

“It’s snowing,” Blaine whispered.

Steve felt fingertips brush over his abdomen, and shifted closer at the invitation, reaching out to thread his fingers through Blaine’s hair and work his thumb in circles below his ear. “I know.”

“I love the snow,” Blaine hummed, his voice slurring as he began to drift to sleep.

“I know,” Steve said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when it makes you sick.”

Blaine let out a soft laugh, pressing his cheek into Steve’s palm. “You love me.”

Steve watched Blaine’s face for a moment, pale and stunning in the moonlight despite his sickness.

“I do.”

Blaine didn’t answer again, and Steve felt him relax under his hands, sinking deeper into the pillow.

The song began again, the soft horns blowing under the melody. With a quick, soft kiss to Blaine’s temple, Steve lay back on his pillow, and fell asleep wondering what it might feel like to dance to _Moonlight Serenade._

_~ FIN ~_


End file.
